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Bob is an American filmmaker who’s editing his movie in Manila. Or at least that’s his cover. Here’s his account of meeting the director Werner Herzog (Aguirre, the Wrath of God, Fitzcarraldo) while standing in a queue at a bank.

I hate going to the bank because there are only two reasons for me to go: 1. I have no money and I’m going to the bank for an explanation (“You don’t have money because you don’t know how to save it,”) or 2. The bank is sending me letters telling me I have no money yet I keep trying to spend it and they want an explanation, (to which I usually reply, “I don’t have any money because I don’t know how to save it.”)

One day I found myself standing in line at Bank of America, in the middle of Hollywood. I was lulled into a trance by the banality of the environment. Posters offering low mortgage rates, credit approvals, ringing phones, little old ladies filling out withdrawal slips, I was unconsciously marching in line towards the next available bank teller. In my trance, I accidentally walked into the man in front of me. The man turned slowly and I began to mutter an apology, but I stopped short as Werner Herzog faced me. The next few moments were a blur, thoughts raced across my mind. What the hell is Werner Herzog doing at Bank of America? Did I remember to put on pants this morning? I wonder what I’ll have for lunch? Was that cute blonde looking at me? Holy shit, it’s Werner Herzog! I snap back to reality. Silence. Herzog and I stare at each other for what seems like an hour. Herzog has steel blue eyes. Staring at him is like looking into the void. He could probably stare down a charging bull. It’s called the thousand-yard stare, Herzog has it.

What do you say when you come face to face with one of your heroes? I wish I could have said something worthwhile to this cinematic giant, this god among men, my idol, but I opened my mouth and all that came out was, “Mr. Herzog, I really love your films, they have had quite an impact on me.” (Doh!) Thankfully, Herzog didn’t miss a beat, he laughed and replied in his thick German accent, “Well, you must really love movies if you love my movies.” I fired back a response, trying to keep the conversation going, “Ya, I just watched Little Dieter Needs To Fly again recently. Dieter Dengler was such an amazing man.” (Double Doh!) And then, Herzog did it. He confirmed my suspicion. Underneath the wild existence of his public persona lies a brilliant, sensitive artist, a man operating in the world in his own unique consciousness. Herzog replied, “Yes, Dieter Dengler was the purest of men. To look into the soul of Dengler was to look into the soul of an angel. Dengler’s heart could provide solace for the desperation of man.” Silence. I literally looked around to see if anyone else just heard that. Did Herzog actually just say that? Soul of an angel, desperation of man? How do you respond to that? I just stared at him in awe. Herzog continued, “I think what you should know is…”

Suddenly a woman’s stern voice interrupted Herzog. “Sir!” Herzog and I looked over. The bank teller was waiting for Herzog, his turn had come. Herzog looked at me once more. My mind raced trying to figure out a way to keep Herzog there, to convince him to finish his last sentence. What was it that he thinks I should know?! Herzog smiled and walked away towards the underpaid, overworked, annoyed bank teller named Bonnie. I hate Bonnie. Because of Bonnie I will be forced to live out my days searching for the elusive truth that Herzog was no doubt about to pass on to me. Stupid Bonnie.

I don’t remember what happened to me in the bank after that. I don’t remember the drive home either. The next thing I remember is telling a friend about the Herzog encounter. This friend has no idea who Herzog is and thus no real appreciation for the story. After struggling to convey the significance of what happened to me with Herzog, my friend looked at me and said, “Dude, you should have just waited outside for him and offered to buy him a cup of coffee.” Damn it! Whatever, I still blame Bonnie.